


Regarding the Flatshare… (A 5+1 tale)

by OpalJade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Baby Watson, First Kiss, Fluff, Humour, John Watson's Blog, John and Mary are divorced, John and Sherlock belong in the same flat, John is a bit clueless, John's POV, M/M, Post-His Last Vow, Sherlock is a Girl's Name, no one dies, sherlock is a genius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalJade/pseuds/OpalJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times John was warned to stay away from 221B after his divorce from Mary, and the one time he was actually encouraged to return to Baker Street. (Plus what happens next, of course… ;D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regarding the Flatshare… (A 5+1 tale)

**Author's Note:**

> A huge *Thank you* to the lovely JPerceval for the brilliant beta and useful feedback. Thanks also to the kind Sherlockfan for her insights regarding John. 
> 
> So sorry, this is not Brit-picked. (I'll make any required changes).

~~~***~~~

 

The first warning regarding Baker Street comes from Greg Lestrade while they’re having a pint at the Red Fox. John hasn’t even thought about moving back in to 221B, so he’s a little surprised when Greg brings it up. 

“I take it you’ll turn down Sherlock if he asks you to move back in? Not a great combination—Sherlock’s crazy experiments and a newly crawling baby. Recipe for disaster, that.”

John sighs. He doesn’t really feel like talking about his split from Mary and the consequences of shared custody. He just gives Greg an evasive answer “Yeah, well, I haven’t really thought about it,” he says. Really, he’s just trying to stay afloat with everything—namely the divorce, working at the surgery, and changing nappies in between all of this. “Moving is not really a priority at the moment. Charlotte isn’t even ten months old yet… still lots of time to figure something out.”

John takes a sip of his lager and turns back to the football game on the telly. Van Persie is back from yet another knee injury and it looks like Man U might just win this one for a change. Excellent, he’s got money on the game.

“So, you’re not moving back in, then?” Greg repeats.

“Nope,” John replies distractedly. He just wants to take his mind off the bloody mess his life is for a few hours. 

“Good. You know what Sherlock’s like. He’s so intense—I don’t think it’s a good idea to have you two reunited.” 

John frowns, puzzled. What the hell is Greg on about? “What do you mean?”

“Well, you two are not exactly a safe combination… and besides, I think that Wiggins guy might want that spare room for himself. Might be good for him to hang out with someone else.”

This bothers John though he can’t exactly pinpoint why. “Why? Is Sherlock looking to rent out my room?”

Greg winks. “It’s not really your room anymore is it, though?”

John lets it go and shrugs. He still thinks of it as his. He finds it hard to picture Sherlock wanting to share Baker Street with anyone but himself.

Besides, Greg is probably just goading him because he’s about to lose yet another football bet to John. 

 

~~~***~~~

 

The second warning comes a few days later, on a Thursday morning. He’s at Bart’s with Sherlock (it’s been a long time since he’s followed his best friend there—but since Mary has Charlotte for the next four days, he’s taking advantage to spend time with Sherlock as much as possible—he misses the wanker more than he cares to admit.)

Sherlock is working meticulously with blood samples, testing for traces of drugs using thin-layer chromatography.

While they are waiting for the results, John offers to get them a coffee. “I’ve been up since a quarter to five this morning and could use a pick-me-up. Would either of you care for a coffee or something?” asks John, trying to muffle a yawn.

Molly shakes her head ‘no’ and Sherlock acts as if John hasn’t spoken at all. 

“Sherlock, want a coffee?” John repeats, “Some breakfast?” he adds as an after thought. Lord knows when the last time the lanky genius remembered to feed his body.

“Not now,” says Sherlock. His head his bent low and his attention completely on the coloured spots slowly appearing on several of his glass plate assays. He looks so young—almost like an undergrad —when he’s concentrated like that, John thinks. Sherlock only shows his age when he smiles and laugh lines appear around his eyes.

John resists the urge to ask him when was the last time he has eaten. Sherlock is an adult and doesn’t need John double-checking on his eating habits.

Molly distracts him from his random thoughts by offering to join him downstairs. “I don’t really need anything, but I’ll come with you to… to hmm… keep you company,” she says in her unique, sweet, awkward way.

“Sure, thanks.”

Fifteen minutes later they are making their way back to the morgue with their hands full (John couldn’t help it and has purchased turkey sandwiches and bananas hoping they might pique Sherlock’s interest.) Molly is carrying the hot drinks.

Just before they reach the doors to the morgue, Molly stops and says hesitantly, “I was just thinking John, that if… if Sherlock asks you to be his flatmate again, perhaps you’ll consider turning him down?”

John frowns. “Why do you say that?”

“No reason… in particular. I mean, there’s no specific reason… ” she says, her cheeks reddening as she fumbles a bit with her words. “I’m just looking out for Sherlock—he pretends he doesn’t care, but I think it would do more harm than good if you were to move back in and then move out again when the place becomes inconvenient for a small child. ”

John feels more than a little irked. First, how is it anybody’s business where he chooses to live and secondly, what the hell does Molly mean by ‘looking out for Sherlock’…? Sherlock doesn’t need protection from _John_. Hadn’t Molly been to his bloody wedding? John keeps Sherlock right.

He doesn’t say any of this to Molly. She means well and he shouldn’t be so annoyed with her. She probably still has a thing for Sherlock. In the end John just shrugs and says, “Not really a pressing issue at the moment”. It comes out a little sharper than he intended.

 

~~~***~~~

 

As soon as Mrs Hudson casually brings up the flatshare, John realizes two things: he’s about to get the third warning and people have been discussing the situation behind his damn back. 

“John, you know you and sweet baby Charlotte are always welcomed here—with open arms. But I’m not sure if it’s a great idea for you to move back in with poor Sherlock unless it’s permanent this time. You rather broke his heart last time when you left him.”

John literally feels his blood pressure increasing as Mrs Hudson’s words reach deep and scratch off the scab that is Sherlock’s hiatus. “Wait a bloody second, Mrs Hudson. _Sherlock_ was the one who left _me_. For _two_ goddamn years! So don’t you go all ‘poor Sherlock-y’ on me!”

His harsh words startle both Mrs Hudson and baby Charlotte, who jumps slightly in his arms at the sound. Her mouth trembles and her lips form a pronounced pout. 

“John!” says Mrs Hudson in a tone that scares Charlie even more.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, and kisses Charlotte’s nose to reassure her he’s not upset with her—that there’s nothing to be afraid of. John fights for composure, takes a deep breath and says, “ So, next time you discuss my bloody living arrangements with the others, why don’t you remind them of that fact, okay?”

“Oh, John,” says Mrs Hudson, sadly. “Please don’t take it that way!”

John sighs and squeezes Mrs Hudson’s forearm slightly as an apology of sorts. “Will you tell Sherlock I dropped by?” he leaves before Mrs Hudson has time to say anything else. 

Why is everyone so goddamn worried about him and Sherlock being flatmates again? 

 

~~~***~~~

It’s the fourth warning that hurts him the most. It comes from Sherlock’s dad about fifteen minutes after they’ve eaten Christmas dinner at the Holmes’s residence. They are all gathered around in the living room and Charlotte is being passed around like she’s a present at a bridal shower. Finally, it’s Mrs Holmes who gets to keep her. “Let me hold her, Sherlock. You can fetch the presents for me.” She sits next to the Christmas tree with a giggling Charlie on her lap. John watches them with a huge grin on his face.

Mr Holmes approaches him and says softly, “Dr Watson—John. Would you be so kind as to step in here for a moment for a quick word?”

Ironically, they’re now in the room where last year John and Mary had their discussion by the fireplace. 

“It’s wonderful what the addition of a baby can make at this time of the year. It’s magical to see the effect they have on everyone around them—I even saw Mycroft smiling… twice.”

“Yes, I noticed. But I think he was smiling at the fact that Charlotte hiccupped part of her supper unto Sherlock’s expensive shirt more than anything else.”

Mr Holmes nods in agreement and chuckles. “But it’s still more than we get at Christmas time from him. And just look at Marjorie, you’d think she’d just won the lottery. She gets attached so quickly and fiercely.”

John smiles. It’s true, Mrs Holmes dotes on Charlotte whenever they happen to visit Sherlock at the same time.

“Sherlock is the same.” Suddenly, Mr Holmes’s face turns from melancholic to serious. “So, regarding the flatshare… well, I know it’s none of my business, but parents worry about their children no matter how old they are—you’ll find that out for yourself soon enough.” He pauses. “Sherlock can be so impulsive when he gets emotional as we witnessed last Christmas… It might be kinder if you didn’t move back in with him, don’t you think?”

John is dumbstruck. It takes him a few moments to process the warning. It makes no sense.

Why does Mr Holmes think he’s bad for his son? Has no one told him how much he cares about Sherlock? How devastated he was when his best friend was dead for two years? Surely Mycroft must have informed his parents what a good friend and flatmate John was for their son? That he called as soon as he thought Sherlock was doing drugs again?

Mr Holmes stares at him with kind eyes and in the end, John only nods because he can’t bring himself to speak. There’s a lot he’d like to tell Sherlock’s father but the words are complicated and sticky and get stuck inside his mouth as if his throat is lined with glue. 

_Mr Holmes, I was good for your son when I lived with him. He ate and he slept and he was happy._

_I like him just the way he is. He says I bring out the best in him—and to tell you the truth, I’m better with him around too._

“Thank you, John, for letting him be,” says Mr Holmes.

John feels a strange pinching in his throat. He swallows as if to stop the sensation from travelling up and stinging his eyes. He manages to nod one last time, not entirely sure why this conversation even took place.

It’s Christmas and John doesn’t want to ruin things for the Holmes family—especially Sherlock who seems to be happy (and not trying to hide it)—so he pastes a smile on his face for the rest of the evening and blocks out the sting and confusion brought on by Mr Holmes’s words.

 

~~~***~~~

 

Mycroft’s warning comes later on in the evening as he’s escorting John and Charlotte into a shiny black car that will drive them back to London. This fifth warning is of course the briefest and most to the point.

“I would advise you to reconsider if you’re thinking of co-habiting with Sherlock again. You have been an asset in my brother’s life, but I can only foresee difficulties if you two were to resume the flatshare.”

“Stuff it, Mycroft.”

“Do not take it personally, John. My brother just recovered from being by himself. Surely you realize it’s what is best for Sherlock. 

John doesn’t bother answering and closes the car door quickly. Christ! There was a time when Mycroft Holmes would literally order him not to leave Sherlock alone, muses John. And now he wants John to stay away? 

All the way back home, John keeps replaying all the warnings in his mind—especially his conversation with Mr Holmes. It totally baffles him still. Sherlock’s father seemed to genuinely like him… Jesus! Earlier in the evening they’d even taken turns gently teasing Sherlock about his odd sleeping habits and had shared humorous tricks on how to keep Sherlock from being bored. 

The words had never been spoken out loud, but John always felt Sherlock’s parents had opened their home to him for the holidays because they were actually _grateful_ for John’s presence in Sherlock’s life. 

So why ask him to stay away from their son now?

He could understand if the warnings were about Charlotte’s safety, but John senses they’re not. In fact, everyone talks as if he’s betrayed Sherlock in the past. Like Sherlock is better off without John. 

_He can be so impulsive…_

Hell! Do they think John asked Sherlock to shoot Magnussen last year? Don’t they know it never crossed his mind that Sherlock might even do such a thing? Never in a million years would he ever ask anyone to kill anyone else, let alone Sherlock. He’s not _that_ addicted to danger. Is this what this is all about? That John wants to live with Sherlock because he seeks ‘dangerous’ situations and thrives on them? Don’t they realize that John also tags along after Sherlock because he wants to make sure he’s safe? (And safe from himself) And for God’s sake, surely they know John is the best damn flatmate Sherlock could ask for? Who else ensures that Sherlock eats and sleeps and stays away from drugs? Who else puts up with the experiments, the crazy filing system, the messes, and the mood swings? Oh, and what about the violin—

 

Suddenly, John’s anger simmers down like a boiling pot that has been removed from the stove. The truth is, he loves listening to Sherlock playing the violin. And who’s kidding who? None of the other things John just listed are really a chore for him either. He _likes_ living with Sherlock! He likes the element of surprise his best friend brings to every situation they’re in. He likes Sherlock’s unorthodox sense of justice and his witty sense of humour. He loves being awed by Sherlock’s work. In fact, he feels it’s a privilege to be privy to the inner workings of a real life genius. There’s no one else like him!

Perhaps other people would manage just fine as Sherlock’s flatmate, John muses. Lestrade could easily share the flat with him! He’s tolerant of Sherlock’s habits and also admires Sherlock (even when the bloody wanker can’t even remember his name!)

Really, there’s nothing that special about John. He’s just an ordinary middle-aged man who was lucky enough to be jolted back to life by a gifted man who happened to need someone to share the rent with. Maybe they’re right. It’s not like John brings much to the flatshare but groceries and a listening ear. 

But deep down John _knows_ that’s not quite true either. 

He and Sherlock have a unique friendship, he didn’t imagine it. He _feels_ it. And when Sherlock says John ‘keeps him right’… well, John believes him. Sherlock can be his own worst enemy and John does his best to let Sherlock ‘be himself’ all the while keeping a careful eye in order to prevent the wonderful engine he is from going off track. 

In fact, John muses, they both save and need each other in equal measure. They balance each other out, and whatever the mysterious variable is on either side of the equation, John and Sherlock have whatever the other is missing to keep the whole thing in equilibrium. (And damn it all, they have _fun_ doing it too!)

The truth is, John would probably still be Sherlock’s flatmate if he hadn’t taken off for two years. He figures he wouldn’t have gotten married either (Sherlock Holmes always managed to trump the girlfriends). 

He and Sherlock have a special bond and John knows that their friends, including Sherlock’s family, have witnessed it. 

The question is why are they all suddenly concerned about their unique friendship? Why the hell not say that it’s the baby they’re worried about?

John shakes his head. Here he is getting worked up about the situation again… 

It’s stupid, really… Hell, a little while ago he was totally not thinking of moving, and now, that’s all he can think about—returning to Baker Street.

And the most pathetic thing is Sherlock hasn’t even hinted that he wants John back in the flat.

 

~~~***~~~

 

Mary arrives in the late afternoon to pick up Charlotte, but since she still hasn’t woken up from her nap, John offers tea to Mary. 

They’re friends. In fact, since the split, they get along much better. People—those who don’t know about Mary ‘not being Mary’—are stunned when they hear about the divorce. But it’s the best decision for them. Last year, when John said, _it might come out ‘now and then’_ turned out to be pretty much _all_ the time. He didn’t like being that way—angry, frustrated, on edge-- in front of his daughter. He constantly felt irritable and on the defensive. 

Truth is, Mary had never fully regained his trust. Yes, for sure, his ex-wife had been beyond brave infiltrating a terrorist group and taking down an entire organization by joining them, but John still could not forgive her for endangering Sherlock’s life. John now understood that Mary had been cornered, and had done what any mother would’ve done to protect her child. The thing is, she should’ve trusted John right from the start, should’ve told him about the fact that she was protecting her secret child, he would’ve understood. Equally important, Mary should’ve known that Sherlock Holmes could outsmart anyone out there blackmailing her. 

And that was the reason why, nine short months after the birth of their daughter, they’d agreed to go their own way and share custody of their child. 

“How did it go at Sherlock’s parents’ place?” Mary asks as she sits down to sip her tea.

“Slightly better than last Christmas. Sherlock didn’t drug or kill anyone this year.”

“Oh, definitely better, then,” she says, amused. She gets John’s quirky sense of humour. “How did Charlotte do?”

“Great. She was the star of the show and everyone wanted to hold her. I was able to keep her up until almost ten without any fussing.”

Mary grins proudly. “Wow, probably why she needs an extra long nap this afternoon,” she says. “Did you say hello to Sherlock’s dad from me? He’s such a nice man.”

“Yeah…” John replies evasively, his mind re-winding to the conversation he had with Mr Holmes.

Mary looks at him quizzically. “John, you sound a bit down. Are you sure nothing bad happened?”

The last thing John wants is to have someone else warning him not to move back in with Sherlock. But Mary is Charlotte’s mother, so John feels she’s the only one who’s actually entitled to an opinion.

John sighs. “Well, all of a sudden it has become everyone’s bloody business where I live. I mean, you and I have always said this flat was too small and that we’d need to move at some point… and then things happened before we got around to it. Anyway, I hadn’t really thought about moving, it didn’t seem like a priority, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, but I just assumed you’d move back in with Sherlock.”

John nearly drops his cup. “You wouldn’t mind?”

Mary frowns. “You know I adore him, and despite all the crazy stuff in that flat, I trust both you and Sherlock to keep Charlie safe.”

“You’re actually saying that it’s a good idea for me to move back into 221B?”

“I encourage it. That’s where I’ve seen you the happiest, John. Isn’t it what you want?”

“Well, that’s a nice change! Everyone has been warning me to stay away from Baker Street.”

“Oh, they’re concerned about Sherlock. ”

“Yes. _Exactly_. People are _concerned_ about Sherlock. But why? I can understand if they were worried about Charlie. Or me, for that matter. But from the different lectures I’ve received, the gist of it seems to be that _I’m_ bad for Sherlock or something like that. Even Sherlock’s dad talked to me last night. He said the kindest thing I could do was to stay away from his son. Can you imagine?”

“See, what people don’t realize is that Sherlock can handle it.”

John throws his hands in the air in frustration, “What the hell!? Not you too! I don’t get it. Sherlock doesn’t need to be able to _handle me._ ”

“Whoa there, relax,” says Mary, stretching a hand in front of him. “I meant his feelings towards you… He can handle them.”

“What feelings?”

“Well, you know… how Sherlock feels about you.”

“Yes—I know. I keep him right, I save him… or have bloody people forgotten that? 

Mary frowns as if she doesn’t understand. “I mean how he _feels_ about you… ”

John shakes his head and holds out both palms in the air as if giving up. “Okay, this conversation is going round in circles… ”

Mary looks at him with a funny expression. Her eyebrows are tilted like she’s trying to figure something out and then she shakes her head, puzzled. “Are you saying you…” she stops and seems to be genuinely perplexed. “John, surely you’ve realized that Sherlock…”

What the hell has he missed? “Realize what?! What has he done now?” 

Mary’s eyes widen and she puts her hand over her mouth. “Oh, God, don’t tell me you don’t know?”

_Jesus, know what? Is Sherlock ill?_

Mary is still looking flabbergasted but there’s a sort of mischievous light in her eyes that unconsciously reassures John that Sherlock is not dying or anything crazy like that. “Oh, my God, John… I’ve always assumed that you knew. Everyone is assuming that you know. It never even crossed my mind that you didn’t know… it’s so obvious.”

“Know _what?_ ” John practically yells.

Mary shakes her head in disbelief and bites her lip slightly. She seems to be struggling with how to break the news to him. “John, Sherlock is completely and hopelessly in love with you.”

John blinks and then barks out a laugh, “Yeah, right. Seriously, what is it that I should know?” John has always appreciated Mary’s dry wit, but her timing is a little off with this one. He’s actually really worried about Sherlock now.

“I’m dead serious, John. Sherlock is head over heels for you.”

John looks at Mary who is shaking her head ‘yes’ earnestly. She seems serious but at the same time there’s a sort of twinkle in her eyes John can’t interpret. “Okay, I’m really confused,” he says as if he’s missed the punch line of a joke. 

Mary laughs a bit like things are becoming clear to her. “I always thought you knew Sherlock loved you. That it was this unspoken thing, but that you knew.”

“Mary, please stop that nonsense.”

“I’m sorry John—well not really—but, anyway, it’s the truth. Sherlock’s in love with you.”

“I really don’t think so.”

Mary remains silent. She has a faint smile on her lips, and she keeps slowly moving her head up and down to emphasize ‘yes’.

Sherlock in love with him? He can barely say it in his head, it seems so abstract.

“Impossible,” he repeats.

“Not only is it possible, but it’s also true… Sherlock is in love with you,” she says, but her words ricochet once more. “Everyone knows that—even our nine month old daughter.”

“Stop it,” he says. “Sherlock doesn’t let himself have these kinds of feelings. He sees it as a mistake. He calls it ‘human error’.

Mary tilts her head sideways. “Yes, I can see how he would put it like that… but honestly, he means that you’re his weakness, his human error.”

John is losing patience. These things should be obvious to Mary. “Sherlock uses love to get what he wants. There’s always a plan behind it. ”

“Sherlock loves you,” Mary insists.

“Nope. He’s not capable.”

“Sherlock is not really a psychopath, you know that.”

“I know, I didn’t mean it like that,” John says, a bit desperately. How can he make Mary understand that Sherlock just doesn’t work that way? “What I mean is-- He’d never let that happen to him. ”

“He probably fought it for the longest time. But make no mistake, Sherlock Holmes is in love with you and has been for a long time.”

John’s laugh is tinged with sadness this time. “Yeah, he loves me so much that he let me believe for two excruciating years that I couldn’t talk my best friend out of committing suicide right in front of my eyes.”

John is embarrassed that even after all this time, his voice cracks whenever he thinks of that day.

Mary sighs and pats John on the knee. “Okay, you’re just proving my point here. Seriously, in what universe does the great Sherlock Holmes stand on a rooftop and declares to the entire world that ‘ _The Work’_ is all fake? Lord God, this is probably the most romantic declaration of all times. This is the kind of stuff they make movies about.”

John blushes and Mary asks, “Are you starting to see?”

“Not even a little bit… ”

John sort of knows that there are still things he doesn’t fully understand about what happened at Barts that day but he remembers Molly Hooper once telling him that Sherlock kept enough details to himself that no one would ever be able to grasp the full extent of the sacrifices he had made. John vows to find out.

Mary continues, “Alright, why do you think he shot Magnussen point blank like that, eh? Yes, he wanted to keep my secrets buried—but not for my sake—for yours! And when he says _Give Mary my Love…_ he means ‘Give Mary my love because I can’t give it to you directly…’ "

John stares in disbelief. He would be less surprised if Mary was trying to convince him that Santa Claus exists for real.

John doesn’t know what to say. Mary seems so sincere. So _convinced._

“John, why would I make any of this up? I’m just trying to explain to you why people are trying to keep you away from Baker Street.”

“I know, it’s just… ” 

“Okay, try this then. Put all the warnings you’ve received in ‘that’ context and see if they now make more sense.”

He does. 

_Might be good for him to hang out with someone else…_

_Only move in if you think it’s permanent this time…_

_It might be kinder if you just let him be…_

_Just recovered from being by himself…_

_He was so lonely after you left last time…_

The effect is like a mudslide within. People were asking him to stay away from Sherlock as to not break his heart! 

Jesus! _Jesus!_

John stands up with his empty cup. “More tea?” he asks, but goes to the liquor cabinet instead and reaches for the first bottle he sees. He pours himself a few inches of brandy in his teacup. Mary smiles, clearly amused.

“Fuck. You really think so?”

“Yes.”

“ _In_ love—Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Christ almighty, Sherlock in love with him?!

John has no idea what to do with that. He feels like he’s holding on to a live electrical wire without being grounded. “Sherlock wants…” he stops, unsure of how to even phrase it.

“He wants to be in a relationship with you, yes.”

“But what does that even mean?” he asks.

“It means he wants you… bad,” she replies. (Well, trust Mary not to beat around the bush.)

John feels like his chest and neck are burning, his face too, and even the tip of his nose feels warm. Is it possible for a grown man to blush that much? 

“John, you’re all red.”

Apparently, it is.

He sits back down, and gulps his brandy in one shot. At least now he’s got a reason for the shivers and the warmth spreading through him. “Alright, talk me through it then.” 

“First, tell me if there’s a slim chance you might ‘go there’ because the last thing I want to do is change how you act around Sherlock. It would take him less than five seconds to sense that something has changed and I don’t want to make things worse for him… ”

“Go there?” he repeats, dumbly.

“Jesus, John. Do I need to spell everything out for you?” says Mary with a half-smile.

John fills up his cup with brandy again and takes a large gulp. “Don’t pretend you’re not getting a kick out of this.”

“A bit, yeah,” she teases. “So, would you sleep with him? You know, ‘go there’?” Mary asks. 

John doesn’t have a sweet clue what to say to that. He’s still trying to think of Sherlock in that context and it seems so utterly strange. It reminds him of the time he saw Sherlock kissing Janine. “Wait, is he even gay?” 

Mary gives him a look. “C’mon, you’re doing it on purpose now.”

“Okay, okay, I always thought he was—but in my defense I’ve only seen him show real interest in one person, and it was a woman. Never ever seen him interested in a man.”

“Because you’re blind, and he only has eyes for you… ” says Mary. “But seriously, how do you feel about Sherlock?” she adds.

John says nothing and just drops his face in his hands. How can he explain—to his ex-wife of all people—how he feels about Sherlock Holmes? He can’t even explain Sherlock to himself most of the time. All he knows for sure is that he needs Sherlock in his life and that when he was dead, John pretty much grieved like someone who had lost a spouse. 

Mary wants to know if he would “go there” now that he knows… well, he has no clue. It feels so weird to think of his best friend in a sexual context. His face warms up again at the thought of being with Sherlock ‘that way’. It feels odd, but not impossible. It’s like he’s in a labyrinth and he has just discovered that a path that he didn’t even know existed is suddenly open… doesn’t necessarily mean it will lead to anything, though.

When he looks up again and stares at Mary. She’s practically beaming. Her eyes are bright and her smile is wide and genuine. 

“Oh God, if Sherlock’s got a chance with you… “ She puts her fingers over her mouth just like she does when she’s overly delighted. “Hell!--I never thought I’d get to repay that man for everything he’s done for me.”

John frowns. “I didn’t say anything.” But Mary just keeps grinning, her eyes twinkling.

He supposes that his silence is as telling as an outright denial. He shrugs and gives her a half smile because all of a sudden, it’s pretty damn funny that his ex-wife is trying to set him up with their best man. 

Maybe it’s the liquor, maybe it’s something else… but John starts to acknowledge the truth to himself, and begins to share some of the tidbits about his relationship to Sherlock that should’ve been obvious to him.

“You know, before Sherlock left, everyone thought we were a couple,” admits John.

“You don’t say…”

“And Mrs Hudson. She was convinced we were boyfriends. She was literally shocked when I told her that I was going to propose to you.”

“Yeah, I know… she had a chat with me.”

“Oh, God!”

“She wasn’t the only one… Molly Hooper also thought that there was something between you two. I told her not to worry, that if you were gay, a gust of wind would’ve brought the two of you together already. Greg Lestrade was there too and guess what he said?” 

“No idea.”

“A light breeze would’ve done it.”

John shakes his head. “Lestrade, eh?”

“Yes, and later, he even apologized to me for not properly helping Sherlock to write his best man’s speech… Greg told him to forget about looking up how in a book and just go with his gut… and then Sherlock practically wrote you a sonnet… ”

John can only keep shaking his head.

Mary sighs. “You know, I was sure he was going to tell you on the tarmac the day he was supposed to be sent off to Eastern Europe… ”

John recalls how utterly lost he felt that day; confused, guilty, and unable to express himself. And it’s true, Sherlock had wanted to tell him something… 

“Maybe he almost did… but in the end he just made a joke about ‘Sherlock’ being a girl’s name…”

Mary laughs, “Yes, I remember and then you spent weeks and weeks trying to find a baby girl’s name that sounded like his. And then you came up with Charlotte—closest one we could agree on.” 

“Yeah. Well, you wouldn’t let me name her Shirley.”

“We had an argument over it.” 

_One of many_ John thinks.

Suddenly, the teasing mood in the room is gone and Mary looks sad for a moment. “It’s okay, John,” she says, reading his thoughts. “I’ve always been able to rely on myself.”

John stands and says, “Well, thank you for telling me… ”

It’s odd, but this is probably the most honest conversation he’s ever had with Mary.

Mary smiles. “Don’t thank me yet. You still have lots of figuring out to do, it seems.”

“Yes, it’s just a bit overwhelming,” John says. “You know just how much I care about him.”

“He could always be your ‘exception’ you know… think about it.”

He will. 

~~~***~~~

Later that night, he does as Mary suggested, and asks himself how he really feels about Sherlock Holmes. 

Yes, he loves him, but everyone knows there are different kinds of love—and John honestly doesn’t know which category his love for Sherlock fits in. All he knows, is that he actually feels alive when he’s around Sherlock…

This suddenly reminds him of his sister’s excuse for not coming to his wedding… 

“Won’t last anyway!” Harry had claimed. “You’re in love with Sherlock Holmes. Just read your blog—God, it couldn’t be plainer. The guy jerks you around, returns, and you profess your undying love for him on your blog—immediately after announcing your engagement.”

“Undying love?” he’d asked. 

“Yes, you know when you say you’re hooked on someone and that their mere presence makes you feel alive?—Well, that’s the very definition of undying love.”

Of course, John hadn’t paid any mind to Harry’s ramblings at the time… Clearly she’d missed the wedding because she’d been drunk.

But now that he’s on the hunt for how he feels about Sherlock…

John gets out of bed, only wearing his pants and a t-shirt, and goes to the living room to get his laptop. He hurries back in bed, pulls the thick blanket over him and finds the blog entry that Harry was talking about—the one where he writes about Sherlock’s return… yes, there it is, _The Empty Hearse._ His eyes skip over most of the entry and go straight to the part where he tells his readers that he’s engaged. And then he sees it, what he wrote right after; 

_#Sherlocklives means #johnwatsonlives._

He blinks.

Did he really write that? 

There’s nothing subtle about this statement, John concedes. It doesn’t really matter that he’d just announced his engagement to Mary in that particular blog entry—his final statement, his _conclusion_ , basically claims that he lives for Sherlock Holmes.

John takes a deep breath and re-reads the entry, slowly this time. He can’t believe his eyes when he gets to this part:

_I was hooked. He’s like a drug._

John closes his eyes and tries to be honest with himself. If anyone else had written something like that… he would assume that they had it bad for the other person. Just to test the hypothesis John imagines Greg Lestrade writing publicly things like; ‘Sherlock is like a drug’ ‘I feel alive now that he’s back.’ 

Well, that pretty much confirms it. Those are pretty strong words to describe ‘just’ a best friend, aren’t they?

John proceeds to read his entire blog from start to finish. He discovers that right from the start Sherlock had a strange effect on him. Lord God! He’d even described Sherlock as _charming_ the very first time he met him. He also notes—on his very last entry—that even during his bloody honeymoon, he had a hard time staying away from Sherlock Holmes. 

It finally dawns on John that his sister was right, even without all the drama of Mary’s secrets, his damn marriage never had a chance… 

Feeling trickles down from his brain to his heart and John knows without a doubt that he loves Sherlock. 

_I fucking love him._

_So much._

John sets his laptop on the floor and shakes his head—Christ, he’s felt that way about Sherlock for a long time, hasn’t he? There’s no question in his mind as to whether or not he can ‘go there’… he’s already there. Has been for a while and not realized it. _Bloody idiot!_

He supposes that if Sherlock had never gone away, he’d have figured it out sooner. He remembers that morning, the one where Moriarty had reappeared in their lives. He’d just come out of the shower and Sherlock was solving an old case using a dummy in the flat. John had felt it, then, the hint of possibility… but one short text later and everything had changed.

John sets his laptop on the floor and looks at the clock. Jesus it’s late! He’s been reading his blog for hours… (might as well be a diary about Sherlock).

John wonders what Sherlock is doing right now. Is he in his bed thinking about him too? It feels weird to even think of it like that. Weird, but good. _Really_ good. Impulsively, John grabs his phone from the bedside table and sends out a text to Sherlock. 

_**Hi**_

Sherlock replies immediately. 

_**Hi? -SH**_

Sherlock wants to know why John is texting this late. John wants to tell him he’s finally figured it out, but finally decides it’s probably best to do it in person.

 _ **I was just thinking about you…**_ he texts instead.

_**Not a danger night. -SH**_

_**Didn’t think it was. What are you up to?**_

_**Adding NH3 to buffer sol'n. -SH**_

This makes John smile. It’s 2am and for some reason Sherlock is working with an ammonium compound. 

_**I might drop by today or tomorrow.** _

_**You’re always welcome, John**_

John grins and puts the phone back on his side table. Just the fact that Sherlock has participated in a meaningless text exchange with him tells John that he might be Sherlock’s exception too. 

He shakes his head fondly, rolls to one side, and gradually falls asleep to images of Sherlock Holmes.

 

~~~***~~~~

 

For the next twenty-four hours, John actually feels light, effervescent and energized—giddy sums it up pretty nicely. He tells himself he’d like to use another word—a more mature description—but that’s honestly the best word to define what he feels whenever he thinks about the fact that Sherlock loves him. 

He catches himself thinking about it often and whenever it happens, a sort of odd tingle skips along his spine and makes him catch his breath. Jesus, Sherlock. 

He shares the news with baby Charlotte while they are both sitting on the living room carpet trying to stick 3D shapes in a coloured plastic house. “I’m in love with Sherlock. And he loves me too… but apparently you already knew that.” 

It’s the first time he says it out loud. Charlie looks up and gives him the hexagon.

“Need a little help with that? Here we go…” John puts the shape in his little girl’s fingers and hand over hand guides it into the proper slot. Charlotte laughs delightedly when the shape clinks at the bottom of the plastic floor. 

“See, sometimes you just need a bit of help to figure things out. It was your mummy who made me see about Sherlock. God, I still can’t believe it.”

John opens up to his little girl. He tells her things because it’s easy. She’s his own mini-sized therapist.

“We haven’t said anything to each other. I think it will be weird. Will you come with me so we can tell him?”

Charlotte tries to fit a green triangle in her mouth. John pries it out of her fingers. “Silly girl,” he says.

“I’ve never told anyone what it felt like meeting Sherlock after I came back from the war. But I’ll tell you because you are such a great listener.”

He tickles Charlie’s toes distractedly as he tells her about Sherlock. “I was so, so, lonely and to tell you the truth I also felt a bit useless too… that is until your crazy uncle Sherlock deduced my life story and then proceeded to totally shuffle it around, all in the space of twenty-four hours! Sherlock is similar to mummy; he’s very clever and funny and not shy to say what he thinks of people. You’ll spend some days with me and Sherlock and some days with your mum. You won’t be bored, ever!”

John stops, opens the latch at the bottom of toy and the floor of the plastic house opens up and all the pieces scatter on the carpet. Charlotte reaches for the triangle again. He notices that Charlie prefers her left hand. He smiles.

“Yes, we did lots of outrageous things but you need not worry, Charlotte, because we’ll take good care of you. Sherlock is very good—and a bit sneaky—about protecting people and he’ll make sure you’re safe at all times. He loves you too much for anything bad to happen to you.”

They continue playing a few more minutes with the toy—until all of a sudden—baby Charlotte has had enough. It still amazes John how there’s no transition time between ‘perfectly happy’ and ‘apocalyptic distress.’ Charlie is now screaming at the top of her lungs at a pitch and frequency that just cannot be ignored by any sane human. John knows he must put her down for a nap STAT. 

He decides that this might be actually the perfect time to go see Sherlock. They’ll cab it there (and Charlie will fall asleep easily) and he’ll have a chance to have a heart to heart with his friend while the baby naps. He doesn’t have a sweet clue what he’s going to say to him, but he just knows that they need to talk to each other or else they’ll continue to be two idiots loving in parallel for the rest of their lives.

 

~~~***~~~

 

John arrives at 221B with sleeping Charlotte cocooned in a blanket against his shoulder. The door upstairs opens before he has time to knock and his heart does a double beat at the sight of Sherlock smiling widely at him. Funny now that he’s had a paradigm shift he knows why his stomach always does that funny roller coaster thing whenever he sees Sherlock.

Before he has a chance to say anything, Sherlock gracefully scoops up Charlotte out of his arms and mouths “I’ll set her on my bed.”

John grins as he watches Sherlock carefully remove Charlie’s hat and plant a soft kiss on the top of her head as he heads down the hallway towards his bedroom.

John sets the changing bag down and goes into the kitchen to make them tea. He has time to prepare Sherlock soup and toast before Sherlock reappears in the kitchen. Again, his heart does a double-take at the indisputable hotness of the man standing in front of him.

“I placed pillows around the perimeter of my bed to prevent a fall if she were to accidently roll around too much when she wakes.”

“Perfect, thanks. I’ve been instructed not to let her sleep past 4pm or else it might affect her sleep schedule until she goes off to college.”

Sherlock looks a bit puzzled for a second, then grins. “Ha. Mary is a bit rigid with the sleep patterns?”

“You have no idea. She’s got an elaborate schedule thing going on. Seems quite dedicated to it. Charlotte doesn’t seem to appreciate all the work that goes into it though, she just sleeps whenever she wants” John says with a small laugh. “Here, have some soup.”

Sherlock walks around the table and takes the time to see if the chicken and rice soup is worthy of his attention before proclaiming, “I already had lunch.” 

“C’mon Sherlock, do I need to make you a feeding schedule?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer but sits, takes the spoon and eats the entire bowl before they speak again. John feels like texting Sherlock’s dad a photo. _See, I made him eat._

“Happy, now?”

John feels quite happy, indeed. “Yes, very.”

Sherlock stands and takes both teacups to the table in the living room. “Come. I need to show you something.” 

John is grateful that he’s not asking about Mary and the divorce. Sherlock can be so perceptive when it comes to John—yeah, psychopath my arse.

John pulls a chair and Sherlock stands next to him, slowly sipping his tea with one hand while typing quickly with the other (faster than John can with two hands.) 

“Here, read this and tell me what stands out.”

It’s a letter from a teenage girl posted on Sherlock’s website; _The Science of Deduction._ The girl is sure that her fifteen year old brother—a potential prospect for the very competitive Chelsea FC youth academy—has been ‘poisoned’ days before attending the six week try out session by another boy’s father. The police dismissed her claim (idiots!) just because in the end, her brother tore his Achilles tendon and lost the opportunity to attend the try out sessions.

“What do you think?”

“Well, it is odd. Athletic, fifteen-year old’s don’t usually snap their Achilles.”

“ _Exactly.”_

“So you’ll take the case?”

“Hmm, yes.”

“She probably had you at the police are idiots…”

Sherlock half smiles as he turns off his laptop. “There’s that.”

Then, just out of habit, they move to their respective chairs.

There is a thick, comfortable, silence in the flat. 

Their eyes connect and John feels like he has to look down at his feet because it’s just too much. Lord God, how the hell had he missed this?

There’s more chemistry between them than in a multi-step glycolysis reaction.

Jesus.

Sherlock breaks the tension first. “Listen John, Mary left last month and I know moving out is not really a priority, but you should probably start looking for a new flat in a better neighbourhood soon. I realize Charlotte is your primary concern, therefore, as a favour, I’m offering you the opportunity to resume our flatshare as soon as the time is right for you.”

John feels a flow of warmth fill the tiny gaps of doubt he still had about Sherlock even wanting him back.

Sherlock continues. “I’ve deduced that at least four people have warned you against moving back in but I want to remind you that I’m the only genius in your group of friends and that I want to assure you that Charlotte’s safety would be a priority. You would save money. I could watch Charlotte and Mrs Hudson could take over when I have a case. Charlotte already feels at home here, therefore this would be an easier transition for her. I’ve given it some thought and the storage room upstairs is large enough to be converted into a nursery. If that’s not acceptable to you, I can sleep on the sofa—that’s where I sleep most of the time--and Charlotte can have my room. No need to worry about experiments, I would move everything to 221C—install a lab bench. Mrs Hudson’s living room could be transformed into a playroom. John, would you consider resuming our flatshare? At least until circumstances necessitate a change?”

John sees right through Sherlock’s fake nonchalance and it is humbling to think that this utterly brilliant man feels that way about him. John feels a little bit overwhelmed so he tries to diffuse the situation with humour. “Well, this little speech was certainly different than the first time you asked me to become your flatmate.”

“I was doing you a favour then too.”

“Yes, yes you were.”

John notes just how nervous Sherlock is underneath it all… like he’s afraid of John’s answer. He doesn’t know that John’s answer is ‘I want to be with you always.’

John thinks of all the people who have warned him because they’d guessed what Sherlock was really offering… 

John takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to talk, only to be interrupted by Sherlock.

“You don’t need to answer me now. Discuss with Mary.”

“Actually, I’ve already discussed it with Mary.”

“Oh.”

John needs to get this out. He takes a big breath as if he’s about to jump under water. “Sherlock, I left this flat when I thought you were dead. I—I honestly think I would’ve never moved out of here for any other reason. I might have remained your flatmate until I retired or something. But--”

“But I betrayed your trust,” Sherlock continues for him. “You don’t want to risk it again. Especially with Charlotte. But I promise—I made a vow—I won’t… ”

“No, no—that’s not what I was getting at. I wanted to tell you that I would’ve never moved out because… er, because…” _I was in love with you all along, Sherlock._

But, unfortunately, the words are trapped in his heart. Jesus Christ—surely he doesn’t need a bomb threat to get them out?

John starts again, his heart beating wildly within. “Sherlock, I _do_ want to move back into 221B. With you. But not as your flatmate—as your… ” Oh God, how should he put it? Partner? But Sherlock might think he means colleague. Lover then? That’s seems too much considering they’ve never even touched yet. “As your… er… boyfriend,” he finally finishes lamely. 

_Well, that wasn’t the most eloquent way of putting it._

In fact, from the utter bewildered expression on Sherlock’s face, perhaps he should not have blurted it out at all. A full ninety seconds goes by and John has the distinct impression of having jumped out of an aeroplane without a parachute. He should’ve probably approached this from a different angle instead of just announcing it like that out of the blue.

“Boy… friends? Sherlock finally says, suspicious. 

John swallows. “Er-yeah. If you… want. If you’re interested, that is.” He feels warm all over his face. And his nose. He must be blushing again. This is not how he’d pictured this going when he’d shared the news with Charlie earlier.

“To clarify, you mean ‘boyfriends’—not just boys who happen to be friends?” asks Sherlock as if there’s actually a double meaning to the word. (Or is there?)

“Yeah—boyfriends,” he says, and then, just in case, adds, “spelt in one word.”

Sherlock stares at him with an unreadable expression. John can’t tell if he’s just made the worst blunder of his life or the best (but make no mistake—it is a blunder). 

“Elaborate.”

“Well, hmmm, I---er.” He coughs, “What I mean is…. “ He stops and starts over, “I mean, I…Whatever it is _you_ feel for me… it’s er… reciprocal.”

Sherlock looks at him with forensic scrutiny and John hopes the bloody genius can use his deductive skills and see it written plainly on his face. _I’m rather quite in love you with you too._ His neck feels so warm and his heart his beating out of his chest.

“It’s reciprocal, you say?” Sherlock asks as if he’s interrogating a suspect at a crime scene.

John stares at Sherlock’s eyes, willing him to see everything that’s inside. “Yes. I feel… thesameway,” John says quickly, waving a hand between the two of them. 

Sherlock squints as if he’s slowly deciphering the evidence John lamely put forth (which, granted, isn't much at all). Really, is it that much of a surprise for Sherlock? Surely he must have seen some signs in John and wondered?

After a few decades, Sherlock finally comes to a conclusion. “You want us together…. _That_ way?” Sherlock asks, eyes wide.

A quick shiver runs up John’s neck at the thought. “Yes.”

“You want me to touch you?” There’s a hint of challenge in his tone.

“Yes, Sherlock.” _God Yes._

“And you want to touch me?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yes,” John whispers. “Very much so.” It comes out a bit breathless. 

Sherlock stands, buttons his suit jacket, checks his phone, and then says to the spot above John’s head, “Yes, fine. That’s... er acceptable.” He then pivots abruptly and heads towards his bedroom. “I have work to do,” he says.

“Er, Sherlock, Charlotte is still sleeping in there and your work is in here.”

Sherlock stops and turns around. “Right.”

He looks a little lost. John is a little lost too. They are rubbish at this. _Slight breeze, my arse!_ They need a fucking hurricane to get them together. Perhaps he should’ve brought Mary along to help with the transition. 

“Want to start working on the case now?” asks John.

Sherlock looks at him gratefully. “Yes, okay. And don’t worry, even if you can’t offer anything useful, it will help me just to talk it through regardless.”

John half laughs, shaking his head. “Well nice to see nothing has changed too much.”

Sherlock heads to the work table and re-opens his laptop. He sits down and gestures to the chair across. John brings it next to Sherlock and they sit side by side looking at the computer screen.

Sherlock informs the teenage girl that he will take her case if she can verify that the ‘accused’ father is a dairy farmer. (A _dairy farmer_?!) When the girl confirms Sherlock’s hunch with a surprised ‘yes’, he proceeds to deduce the entire thing from home with a record eleven questions. 

It turns out that the brother’s best friend was also trying out for the same position with the academy. The father of said friend, a farmer, had served both boys unpasteurized milk, to make the brother sick (his son wasn’t affected since his gut had adjusted to the milk over the years). Her brother suffered a serious bowel infection and was prescribed a course of Ciprofloxacin (And it’s not until that point that John finally realizes what the link is… and he’s a bloody doctor!) One of the rare side effects of this particular antibiotic is tendon rupture.

John is awed all over gain. Jesus! It’s as if the solving of a case is like a simple game of dominos to Sherlock. He merely pushes the right question forward and watches the entire sequence of logical answers tumble down in quick, elegant precision, until the final conclusion is lying there for everyone to see. 

He’s utterly amazing to watch in action. “Totally amazing!” John gushes and Sherlock flushes slightly with pleasure. “It wasn’t that difficult to piece together,” he says. 

Sherlock sends the final email to the girl, and after a little while, he turns towards John. The soft glow of the afternoon sunlight highlights his face. His eyes are stunning—the colour of lichen on the trees back home and John is mesmerized by the emotions flickering in their depth. There, John reads all the things that he’s missed and it’s clear the extent of Sherlock’s feelings for him. He hopes Sherlock is reading the very same thing in his eyes too.

“Am I really your boyfriend now?” asks Sherlock. 

“Yeah. I think so… but we should probably do something to make it official.”

Sherlock looks so solemn as he shakes his head in agreement. 

“Would you like me to kiss you?” John asks in a way that calls to mind first love—and that’s exactly what it feels like to John.

Again, Sherlock shakes his head ‘yes’ and closes his eyes.

The sight of his uniquely handsome face and his pretty, waiting lips, has John totally mesmerized. He can only stare and ask himself how he got so fucking lucky.

John cradles Sherlock’s neck, pulls him in close, and brushes his lips with Sherlock’s. It’s a gentle kiss, merely a lingering of flesh upon flesh, and a blending of breaths—just an introduction of sorts—but John feels it spread within, like a flame coming to life. He slides his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and the kiss becomes deeper, fuller as he nudges Sherlock’s mouth open with his tongue. When Sherlock responds to the kiss—his tongue warm and slightly timid at first—John feels a delicious shiver tickle the back of his neck. Suddenly, Sherlock grows bolder, his hands reaching for John’s waist and pulling him closer, asking for more. They kiss as if making up for lost time, and almost lost opportunities. _I didn’t know Sherlock… I didn’t. I'm sorry it took so long._

Finally they break contact and stare at each other, breathing heavily. Sherlock’s lips are puffy and glistening and John resists reaching out for him again.

“Well, I guess it’s official now,” John finally says, his heart still beating out of control.

“I doubt we’ll get a certificate in the mail,” replies Sherlock, slightly out of breath.

John giggles. _Giggles_ for fuck’s sake! He’s got such a crush on Sherlock’s wit. In fact, he’s totally besotted with the genius. And this time he can’t help himself and pulls his brand new boyfriend flush against his chest and kisses him again on the mouth, and then trails small, quick kisses down the line of his jaw. Sherlock smells good, sensual, and he breaks contact to seal his lips on the skin of his neck for a taste. There, he nibbles where the skin is the thinnest and most sensitive. Sherlock makes a curious sound that’s something between a moan and a gasp. For some reason, this makes John laugh in the curvature of Sherlock’s neck neck. He doesn’t know why he’s chuckling… it’s just that he’s suddenly got this new version of Sherlock to learn and it’s making him feel ridiculously alive.

Sherlock pulls away, and touches the raised skin on his neck with his fingers. There is a faint red oval forming there.

“Sorry,” says John. “I’ve marked you a bit, but no one will notice.”

“I don’t mind,” says Sherlock, his cheeks slightly flushed. Sherlock swallows. “I’ve been wanting—“He stops, looks down at the keyboard, then looks at him square in the eyes, “I’ve been wanting this for a long time,” he says with a hint of wonderment. “I didn’t think it was possible… How is it possible, John?”

“I don’t have a sweet clue. Mary says we’ve been two idiots dancing around the issue for years. I thought you didn’t do this sort of stuff—relationships. Human error and all that…”

Sherlock makes a face, “I didn’t see the point since you made it your life’s mission to broadcast just how _not gay,_ you are,” he says.

John feels he’s already made a pretty big mess when he tried to explain himself before, so he just shrugs and says, “Well, you do like to prove me wrong.”

Sherlock smiles slightly. “You don’t exactly make it difficult, John.”

“Ha. Funny,” John says, grinning like an imbecile. But it’s okay because they understand each other.

Suddenly, they can hear random chatter coming from Sherlock’s bedroom. Charlie is awake.

When they open Sherlock’s bedroom door, they find Charlotte lying on her back, making all sorts of happy sounds with different intonations while playing with her hands. 

John smiles. “Well, if it isn’t Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde? Geez, I thought you’d been dipped in hot oil with all that screaming earlier.”

Sherlock lies down next to her and says, ‘Yes, like I was telling you the other day Charlotte-Ann, your father exaggerates all the time.” 

John lies on the other side of his baby daughter. He just loves the first ten minutes after her nap. That’s when she’s the happiest without needing to be in constant motion. And to share that moment with the two people he loves most in the world… well, it’s enough to make a grown man choke up...

“You’ll see that Sherlock exaggerates too when we move in here,” he tickles her belly. “I told him,” John says conspiratorially.

“Your father told me _nothing,_ ” Sherlock whispers to baby Charlotte. “He just stuttered a plethora of inarticulate half-sentences and then had me extrapolate the rest. _I_ did all the talking.”

John laughs. He’s not sure if it’s because Sherlock has just made baby talk using the word plethora or because he’s finally moving back in here with the person who makes him feel high on life. He supposes it’s everything; Charlotte and Sherlock. Really, he’s just plain happy. 

He pulls his daughter up to a stand, her little dimpled fists grasping his fingers tightly. He kisses her on the forehead, and then scoops her up in his arms. “Shall we go inform Mrs Hudson about the new tenants in 221B?” 

Sherlock nods and smiles with his eyes as the three of them head downstairs to find Mrs Hudson.

 

~~~~ The End~~~

(or the beginning depending which way you look at it)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I really didn't think this story would get any kudos thrown its way because of Mary's portrayal. Thanks again for giving this a chance and keeping an open mind. :D 
> 
> 1) Regarding Mary's backstory:  
> If you were confused by the fact that Mary had a child from a previous relationship; I apologize. I used the exact same backstory for Mary that I did in my other Post S3 story _Mixed Messages_. I didn't want to explain my theory again because I wanted to keep this story light and fluffy. :) But yeah, I'm convinced that Mary has a secret child (just like in ACD's _The Yellow Mask_ ) This is why she shot Sherlock and "would do anything" to keep John from finding out. She was forced to marry John (marry Watson--get it?) and was being blackmailed with her child's life. 
> 
> 2) Regarding the name Charlotte: I'm a francophone and whenever I ramble on to my sisters about 'Sherlock' in French, they always hear 'Charlotte' instead of 'Sherlock'. I thought this would be a good name for baby Watson. ;D


End file.
